Ak'loe's Journal
by JonasGrant
Summary: Life is hard in Skyrim when you're not the Dragonborn or some chosen one of sort. Ak'loe, a dark elf, recounts his and his friends' tale in this journal. This is no tale of chivalry or heroism, merely a few adventurous souls trying to carve themselves a place in the world.


**E4 201, 3****rd **** of Morning Star. **

**Windhelm.**

Let's make this quick and painful, shall we? You picked up this journal,( or maybe it's a book by now, who knows? ), then you must care somehow…

For starter, I'm assuming you can read, if you can't, do find someone that can and get them to read it for you, otherwise you're just wasting your time… Not mine, mind you, I'm writing this because I'm a dozy bastard with the attention span of a Skeever, writing a journal will help me remember important stuff.

So, I'm Ak'loe, Dunmer and… Actually, that's it. I work at the docks here in Windhelm, not that I'm afraid I'll forget about it, it just seems appropriate that I would write an introduction…

I try to become a writer, but the bard's college is in Solitude and carriages from Windhelm don't go to Solitude, or if they do, they are discreet about it.

Let's suppose I make it there, what then? What if they refuse me? What if I end up in Solitude with no gold and no friends, end up begging in the street? I'm a Dunmer, Dunmers don't beg. Here I have a roof over my head, a (boring) job and family, maybe I shouldn't throw it all away on some romantic desire of being a storyteller…

Another shipment of Iron swords came in today, one of the crates was cracked and the swords ended up in the water. I might go with Zeera tomorrow, try to get them back.

**4E 201, 4****th**** of Morning Star.**

**Windhelm.**

Got bitten by- Actually, let's do this by the rules:

I woke up this morning to a bright sun, a rare occurrence in Windhelm, and Zeera pounding on my door. I'm late again, so I jump in my boots and slip some random shirt on before bumping headlong in a misplaced shelf… So it's riveted to the floor, so what? It wasn't supposed to be there, my house, my rules, stupid furniture.

Zeera's an Argonian, blood red with tinges of black, always dressed in black leather and carrying more knives than is healthy, though he claims there is no such thing as too many blades.

"Tidings, friend," he greets, as always, calm despite my being late, "I hope you have slept well, we have a lot of work today." And that we do. We hurry down the snowy alleys, encountering only a few beggars and a single guard on our way through the Gray quarter.

Dad is already waiting for us by the docks, looking angry, though Orcs always look angry…

Aye, it is worth mentioning that I am from Riften, originally, my parents were thieves and rumor has it my mother murdered my father before dumping me on old Grelod's laps, or so the old crone kept telling me. The other kids there were harsh on me, on account of me being blue and pointy faced, though the Dark Elves of Windhelm were equally distant when dad first brought me here, on account of my father, the adoptive one, being an Orc, and the biological one being a Breton.

No, that does not make me a half blood or a Breton, I get a lot of that and that really is not the way it works. The child gets some physical traits from his father, but the mother's race dominates. That makes me a Dunmer with slightly shorter ears, paler skin and a grudge against just about every living being in Skyrim, except Kahjiit, Argonians and Orcs.

Kahjiits will rob you blind no matter who you are, Argonians judge only deeds and Orcs hate everyone on principle. I respect that.

Anyhow, my father gives me a short speech about honor and reliability before getting back to inspecting the latest weapon shipment from Riften, Greatswords.

I go with Zeera to the other edge of the docks, where the alchemist's errand boy, whatever his name is, awaits impatiently. We're not even that late, whiny Nord…

We exchange very few words, he's mad and I don't like him, so I undress in the bitter wind, keeping only my trousers, and he hands us two round bottles, filled with thick blue liquid, like blood in the veins. These potions are meant to protect us from the cold water while we recover the lost shipment. A Draught of water breathing is, of course, out of the question, so I will have to be careful down there, Iron is heavy and I don't have the swimming skills of my friend…

Then again, he has a tail, so that's hardly sporting…

The liquid is foul and I can still taste it in my throat, but it numbs the cold to the point my little dive in the Sea of Ghosts feels like a hot bath.

The swords are easy to find in the sand and we bring them back two to three at a time for about half an hour without problems… Then it gets far more interesting than I like my job to be when a thin, scaly shape shows up just when I'm about to bring up another set of swords. Slaughterfish, the biggest bugger I've ever seen, floating lazily halfway between the surface and me.

My lungs are already on fire and the fat devil takes his sweet time, swinging his tail every now and then, but content to just let the weak current push him forward.

A fish that size, if he bites you good, can cut off fingers, open arteries and rip your throat open, but only if he's lucky, otherwise he'll only give you a nasty scar and, if you are the lucky one, end up roasting over a fire.

In any event, that bugger is moving too slow and I need air, so I drop my cargo and kick myself up. The fish reacts instantly, no longer lazy, he dives at me like an arrow, his jaws wide open and aimed for my face.

If you know about Dunmers, you know we tend to catch fire when threatened or angered, I am no exception, though it was the first time I tried it underwater

One word: Steam. Make that two: Bubbles. The fish interrupts its course or misses altogether, I don't know, but I still make it to the surface unharmed. . There, Zeera tries to drag me out of the water, but ends up roasting his forearm's already dark scales. I climb to safety on my own and roll away from any flammable material. The perpetually frozen stones of Widhelm's docks are soon thawed and cooked, free of snow for the first time in what might be centuries.

Eventually, I simmer down and return to my default activity, which is freezing to death.

Zeera, kneeling over me, seems about to say something when the fish leaps from the water, straight at my face, apparently hell bent on giving me that kiss, but I manage to catch it at the last second, though my Argonian friend's natural instincts kick in and he tries to bite that fish, though the thing is trashing around too much and he ends up taking a good solid bite at my arm.

That must have been quite a scene; An half naked Dunmer, his left hand in an Argonian's mouth, his right one holding a very angry Slaughterfish, whom he uses to whack the Argonian while yelling "Ow! Ow! Let go! By the nine, let go you overgrown salamander!"

Fun times.

Well, that's the story of how I got bitten by an Argonian.


End file.
